


Dragon Age: Insurrection

by thechieftain



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Multi, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechieftain/pseuds/thechieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The search for Solas has begins when Dorian receives word of Solas's hideout near Kirkwall. However, things are not all as they seem, as a few notice that there are two separate hands behind equally dangerous forms of chaos. </p><p>Meanwhile, the word of a new blight begins to bubble up as more and more strangely intelligent darkspawn are seen roaming among them.</p><p>[This is a story that follows after the events of Dragon Age Inquisition and Trespasser.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Age: Insurrection

The Tevinter Imperium was a place of ritualistic decorum, where power and the old ways ruled. It was guarded by those who clung to power with fingers clutching at the palms of their fists. Magic seeped from this place, like the blood that held both the country and the magisterium that ruled it together. Unwilling to change, the blood did its job well, and kept the disenfranchised from succeeding in their seditions. Even those principled enough to threaten the system from within could not fight without resorting to the methods of their contemporaries—and so becoming what they thoroughly hated.

Dorian had been unable to change the place that he called his home, and sowing the seeds of doubt merely made his name known. This did no favors to him as he was forced into hiding. Unable to stay in the cities, he found himself tucked into the valley of dangerous mountains. He was beyond their reach, but not far enough from the cities that he was not able to influence them—even if by indirect means. It would be difficult living, and he often found himself in hunger and cold…at least until spring thawed the terrain, and the Qunari launched their invasion.

This chaos provided an interesting opportunity for someone like Dorian. People fled to the mountains, and those that would reach him found themselves at the mercy of the magister. His ability to navigate the mountains and keep hidden from the invading forces gave them no choice but to listen to what he had to say, and while some would refuse to listen, doubt was placed in many hearts. They questioned, and many found themselves staying at the side of the man, aiding him not only in survival but planting his ideas further. 

What was originally a small cave at the foot of a mountain became a makeshift settlement that occupied the valley outside of it, and with time, it would become more and more permanent. Their position isolated them, and within the year, Dorian had found himself leader of a town, influencing the minds of the people within it. It was here that things began to unravel, and Dorian received notice in form of a distant voice and a glowing presence from the communication crystal, which had gathered filth and dust from lack of it’s use.

“Dorian? Dorian!” It was the voice of his dearest friend, distressed as it were, and unable to discern the cause distress (or ignore it), Dorian sat up on his bed and grabbed it from the stone bedside it had been in. “Inquisitor Levellan?” He wiped the sleep from his eyes with the hand that did not hold the crystal.

“Dorian, we’ve found Solas.” She spoke sternly, the furrow in her brow barely visible through the cloudy material of the crystal.

This was enough for the man to straighten up in shock, a sudden alertness in his eyes. “What?” It was the only word he managed to barely choke out before jumping out of his bed. He rushed to the intricately built wardrobe on the opposite side of the room and pulled from it, his staff and one of his numerous outfits—each more flamboyantly showoff-ish than the last. Placing the crystal down on a desk, he listened as he would get dressed in the midst of the night. “Tell me what you know.”

“We believe he’s in the Free Marches,” she begun. “in a mountain near Kirkwall named Sundermount. Seeing as you were the closest to that area, we were hoping you’d be able to travel there and find out.”

“Oh lovely,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes at her request. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly capable of waltzing out of the mountains without being met with the loving and tender care of my own countrymen. Better yet, I might just find myself in courtship with the Qun. I hear they’re very tolerant of Tevinter mages. Even more so of the magisters. Why else would there be a yearlong invasion of the mainland occurring?”

There was a silence that seemed only momentarily broken by the shuffling of clothes as he buttoned and tucked his clothes. “I’m of course, assuming you have something else in mind besides, ‘run really really fast out of the country and avoid the Qunari horde’?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” the Tevinter male repeated with an equal amount of ire and irritation.

“We have a contact. A group of people that happen to know the Free Marches very well. One of them is native to the Tevinter Imperium. We’ve sent Iron Bull and the Chargers to meet up with them and replace them while they came north to pick you up.”

“You’re joking…and here I thought I was the only Tevinter citizen that pulled their heads from their behinds long enough to care about what happened beyond the Imperium. I suppose I’m glad were not overall extinct and simply instead a dying breed. It’s just enough to give a man hope.”

Another bout of silence overcame the room before there seemed to be an exchange of whispers. It made Dorian suspicious, and he pulled his lips so that they nearly thinned into a line at a lack of response at his comment. Not even a serious retort to his words—it made him nervous.

“Well, he isn’t a citizen of the Imperium. He’s a former elven slave.”

“A slave?” The man questioned with his eyebrows raised high.

“A former slave. His name is Fenris, and he is a very good friend of the Champion Hawke.”

“…So what you’re saying is, I’ll be following a runaway slave and his merry band of men who happen to be friends with the most famous apostate in the entirety of the age?”

“I wouldn’t say they’re all merry. As I’ve heard from Varric, Fenris is the brooding sort. The others might be better company though.”  
He felt himself shiver slightly at the idea of having to personally collaborate with someone that was a victim of the Imperium’s oppression. It was one thing to see it from afar but to have to essentially experience it second hand from the eyes of someone who dealt with it made him uneasy. At the same time, he thought carefully, and the idea of learning from him in order to further his cause with living examples did seem appealing. “There’ll be even more apostates with him, I presume?” He only asked because of the irking feeling that came from his prejudice.

“You presume correctly. Don’t worry though, I hear one of them is an elven blood mage. Certainly speaks well of his tolerance for magic.”

Dorian had to let out a small chuckle at the comment before finishing all the fastenings in his clothes. Placing the communication crystal back on his neck was the last thing he would do before placing everything back as he found it. “I’m sure we’ll get along famously then. If there’s one thing we Tevinter citizens love are elves. Especially those that are our slaves and use forbidden magic to get ahead.” There was a slight bitterness in his voice, which the Inquisitor detected right away.

As it could be seen, she seemed to take the comments in stride, to no enjoyment of the magister on the other end. She sat at her chair—knowing she was no longer in Skyhold but instead in a seemingly remote location. Where it could be, he was not told himself however, and so he was curious as she continued to speak. “I’m sure they’d love to hear you say that to them. They might just love you to death for it.” She was always the sort to make light of the situation, and so Dorian could only laugh, despite the pit that grew in his chest about it. 

“Of course. My charm and wit have always been so useful in defusing situations. How close are they to the Imperium?” It was at this point that he quickly made a tutting noise, cursing himself internally before grabbing a piece of parchment and a feather pen, scribing quickly and messily in the darkness without much more than the open window’s moonlight.

“Last I heard, they were resting up in Marothius to make their way to that sanctuary town you’ve made for yourself in the mountains. From your previous information, they know where to go. You’ll only need to reach the outer edges of the range to meet with them and take a day to play your escape out.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can say on the matter?”

“Fenris and his group have all of the Inquisition’s available resources at their disposal. We may not be an organization anymore, but our names still carry a lot of weight in Thedas. Just try to be as discreet as possible.”

Dorian stood up and placed the pen back into its ink before taking the paper and his staff in hand. “I will make my way there right now. Is there anything that they’re looking for about me?”

“If you meet an angry white haired elf with tattoos in a group with other equally strange people, try not to attack them on sight.”

“Do I look the sort?”

“You look as likely to do so as I do as I am to frolic around and speak to the trees.” And with that remark of sarcasm, the glow from the gem would disappear. It left the mage with a sour taste in his mouth, and though she was playing, it hit him in a place where he knew that her words held a kernel of truth. It was the reason he had to lead by example…the reason he was stuck in the mountains to begin with.

He sighed heavily and placed Yavanalis upon his back, taking only a few essentials before he would leave the room, with only a note of promise upon the door that he would return soon enough.


End file.
